


Emergency Protocol Talk

by audreyskdramablog



Series: Emergency Protocols [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Plot(s), Gen, Pre-Canon, because apparently that's what prompto's pov demands when i write him, mentioned but not acted upon, or at least a hopeful one, overusing em dashes and italics, prompto is just as unhappy about this as you are, this one involves leaving your best friend to die at his request, you know those really awkward friendship talks you have to have sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyskdramablog/pseuds/audreyskdramablog
Summary: If someone tried to kill Noctis when he was a kid, there’s no reason people aren’t still trying. If someone just tried to kill the king, there’s no reason people aren’t plotting against the prince right now. The safest place in the city is the Citadel, and Noct doesn’t live there anymore. Sure, he still spends a lot of time there, but when he’s not there, he’s here at his apartment—Or he’s out with Prompto. And Prompto definitely doesn’t come with a private elevator that requires a security code in a ridiculously fancy building. He doesn’t come with a Shield raised from childhood to fight or a Hand whose intellect is unmatched. He doesn’t come with the men and women wearing Crownsguard fatigues or the Kingsglaive wielding magic.He’s Prompto, and the only things that set him apart are the barcode he keeps hidden and the fact that he can get the prince to laugh sometimes.





	Emergency Protocol Talk

**Author's Note:**

> [Original prompt:](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7851566#cmt7851566) "Once they're far enough into their friendship that Noct is sure Prompto is there to stay, he gives him the 'what to do if someone tries to kill us' talk. Only it's not quite what Prompto was expecting. Rule number 1: Get to safety even if that means leaving Noct to die."

Noctis and Ignis are having one of their silent arguments again. It’s taken Prompto the better part of a year of interacting with Ignis to decipher most of his facial expressions. The one he’s directing at Noct today is the one Prompto has mentally dubbed _You’re Neglecting Something Important_. It involves an intimidating amount of pointed eye contact over paperwork and the occasional jaw clench whenever Noctis looks away.

Noct, in the meantime, is radiating _Not Today_ with the defensive hunch of his shoulders and repeated refusal to respond to Ignis with anything that takes more than two syllables. There’s nothing out of place in the apartment that Prompto can tell—no stack of reports that Noctis is ignoring, they’ve already done their homework, and the next batch of tests are still three weeks away, so he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

But something _is_ wrong, and that’s enough for Prompto to start feeling like he has overstayed his welcome. Ignis has never been blunt enough to outright tell him to leave, and Prompto would very much like to keep it that way. So after a couple more minutes of the fighting game they’re playing on Noct’s console, Prompto starts rubbing at his left eye, like it itches.

It takes three more rounds (and three defeats for Prompto) for Noctis to hit pause and look at him straight on. For the first time since Ignis arrived, he looks something other than stubborn and sullen. “You okay?”

“Contacts are bugging me today, sorry.” Prompto grimaces, mostly for Noct’s benefit but also to help mask his guilt at the lie. “I think I need to head home and take them out.”

“Do give your eyes a rest,” Ignis says from the dining table, as easily as if he wasn't completely silent for the last half hour. “When was the last time you replaced your contacts?”

Two weeks, but— “Last month, I think?”

Ignis is now giving him the generously applied _Mild Disapproval_ look, and Prompto reins in the urge to defend himself with the truth. He gives them both an embarrassed smile instead and puts his controller away. “I’ve got another pair! I just forgot to switch them out.” Once he’s started lying, it’s easier to go with the flow of it, and it isn’t as if Ignis expects him of all people to be on top of his shit all the time. That generally works to his advantage. “But I will do that tomorrow, I swear.”

“See that you do.”

Noctis smirks at him. “And if you don’t, you can always come to school in your glasses.”

“Never,” Prompto says as he climbs to his feet. “I’ve got an image to maintain. Not—” he adds quickly, right before Ignis can finish his transition into _Choose Your Words Carefully_ territory “—that there’s anything wrong with glasses when you’ve actually got something to work with here.” He gestures helpfully to his face area and is a tiny bit relieved when Ignis slides right to _Mild Approval_.

(At least he thinks it’s _Mild Approval_ ; there’s only a few degrees difference in lip curve between it and _Mild Disapproval_.)

Noctis snorts, but Prompto knows by the way the prince doesn’t take the gigantic opening to tease him that there really _is_ something going on that he’s not meant to be here for. So he grabs his school bag, puts on his shoes, says goodbye, and makes a break for it before the fight can turn verbal.

* * *

Whatever happened after he left last night must have been bad, because Noctis is even more sullen and withdrawn during school on Friday. Prompto tries to coax him out of it, but not even a dozen new pictures of the stray cat in his neighborhood can wring a real smile out of him. Noctis doesn’t often use what Prompto has dubbed his _Princely Smile_ on him. It’s the one that’s nothing but polite bullshit mixed with a healthy dash of boredom and resentment for whatever’s going on in his vicinity.

It’s out in full force today despite the cat pictures, and it makes Prompto want to shrink in his seat and/or apologize for something he knows can’t be his fault because it’s clearly between Noctis and Ignis, which definitely means it’s something royal and probably means it involves state secrets. He spends most of the day feeling like it’s all his fault anyway and tries to remember if there’s some sort of trouble that he and Noct got into recently that they weren’t scolded for already.

Prompto is pretty sure that they’ve gotten all their earned talking tos. The last one was five or six weeks ago, delivered by a pissed-off Gladiolus, after Prompto and Noctis decided on a whim to hit up a new arcade that recently opened. Though honestly, most of it was aimed at Noctis—Prompto was just unfortunate enough to be there when the lecture started. There was a lot of _how hard is it to keep your phone charged_ , _did you forget about the list of approved locations_ , and _why didn’t you give us a heads up._

The next day, Ignis gave him a portable charger over his protests and put his and Gladiolus’s numbers in Prompto’s phone _so you know who is calling_. It was only then that Prompto realized the unknown numbers he ignored while at the arcade had been them, and he felt a tiny bit guilty about not picking up, and then he felt weird knowing they both had his number without him giving it to them.

(Noctis muttered something about background checks when Prompto brought it up a few days later. He quickly dropped it because he didn’t want to make it any more uncomfortable than it already was.)

So. _Something_ is up, Prompto doesn’t know what it is, has no idea if he can fix it, and is stuck with Noct being moody as hell. Not the greatest of situations, but Prompto is nothing if not relentlessly cheery and great at mood-lifting distractions. They’re just about the only qualities he has to offer that Noct doesn't already get from Ignis and Gladiolus. 

“Wanna hit up the arcade?” Prompto connects his phone to the charger and shoves both into a pocket. It’s almost habit by now, though it’s still unnerving to have this reminder that people might want to talk to him at any moment. (Well, not _him_ him, but him in the proximity of Noctis. He is used to much longer communication delays with his parents.) “New or old, I’m up for either.”

Noctis doesn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on his books while he shoves them in his bag, and Prompto steels himself for rejection. It wouldn’t be the first time Noct had to turn an invite down due to royal stuff he couldn’t talk about, and apparently he’s neck-deep in royal stuff he doesn’t _want_ to talk about, not even to Ignis, so of course he—

“Come to my place,” Noctis says, still focused on packing up his things. “Ignis has the night off, and now that you’ve got a fresh set of contacts, I can kick your ass fairly.”

The relief that floods through him means that he doesn’t have to fake his smile. “Oh, you’re on.”

* * *

But Noct doesn’t kick his ass. Noct’s playing starts off decent, but it goes downhill fast as the evening stretches on, and Prompto’s playing follows the same curve. Even though it’s just the two of them in his apartment, Noctis is curled up defensively on the sectional instead of relaxing and sprawling out.

It’s somehow worse than yesterday, and doubt starts to bubble up in Prompto’s stomach. Maybe he should just head home. Maybe this is one of those times when he needs to give Noctis some space instead of aggressively trying to cheer him up. He’s gotten better at figuring out the difference between the two, but he still fucks it up sometimes and pushes when he should just give Noctis some space to breathe. He can spend a weekend away from Noct, and then maybe on Monday things will be better. That’s usually how it works, except when things are really bad.

Maybe things really _are_ that bad, and Noct—

Prompto finally KOs Noct’s character when Noct fails to block, but instead of complaining about the cheap shot, Noct sets down the controller and runs a hand over his face.

 _That’s_ not good. Noct only does that when he’s tired or frustrated or upset, and Prompto’s pretty sure it’s not the first one since he hasn’t yawned since before lunch. Prompto scrambles for an excuse to leave, but he already did the contact thing, and Noct knows his parents are on a business trip for at least another week, so that’s out.

“You wanna order something?” Noct asks without looking at him. There’s an undercurrent of tension in his voice, and Prompto’s not sure why Noct’s asking him something that would keep him here longer when it’s clear he’s in a bad mood. “Or we could hit up the convenience store. I think I’ve got some Cup Noodles still, if you want.”

“I’m fine with whatever.”

Prompto is definitely not imagining the little frustrated noise that Noctis makes in response.

“Um, convenience store?” Prompto winces at how uncertain he sounds. He sets down the controller and scrambles to his feet, but then Noct’s hand shoots out and snags his left wrist.

Prompto half turns toward him, surprised by the sudden contact. Noct’s eyes are dark, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed thin. He looks—worried. The kind of worried that is contagious.

Noctis glances away after a moment, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers are cool against Prompto’s skin.

“Noct?”

Noctis tugs him back down to the sectional. Prompto sits.

“Noct?” he tries again when the silence stretches on too long. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Noctis says immediately.

It’s such a lie that Prompto almost calls him on it, but he’s way too nervous to do it. Because it suddenly feels a lot like maybe what’s bugging Noct _isn’t_ princely whatevers. It suddenly feels like maybe it’s _him_.

Shit. What did he do to make Noct like this?

Prompto tries to smile. “Okay, sure. What’s up, then?” He raises his left hand to remind Noct he’s still got a grip on him, and Noct finally lets go of his wrist. Prompto immediately regrets the loss of contact.

“You’re my best friend. You know that, right?” Noctis is looking at him again, and if Prompto didn’t know better, he’d think that Noct’s fishing for confirmation. Or reassurance, or something else that makes Prompto suddenly a lot less certain in his relationship with Noct.

He laughs anyway and hopes Noct can’t hear the tinge of nervousness in it. “Dude, who else could it be?” _Ignis. Gladiolus._

“Yeah.”

But Noct looks away again, and Prompto does a terrible job of ignoring the dread prickling down his spine. If this wasn’t a big deal, Noctis would just launch into the subject and then get back to playing or going out to get snacks or whatever. They wouldn’t just be sitting in strained silence like this.

Prompto breathes in slowly and shifts on the couch so he’s sitting cross-legged and facing Noctis directly. If he scoots forward just a bit, his knees will get Noct in the hip and thigh. Noct stares ahead like the character selection screen on the game is the most interesting thing he’s seen all day.

“Talk to me, Noct. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, Prompto is certain Noctis is going to make him keep pushing. Instead, Noct straightens up, shifting on the sectional so he’s mirroring Prompto’s position. Their knees brush together, and the apprehension in Noct’s eyes is enough to turn some of Prompto’s heartbeats painful.

“Remember when Gladio chewed me out a while ago? At the new arcade?”

That’s not where Prompto expected the conversation to go. “Yeah. What about it?”

“A couple days before that, security uncovered a plot to assassinate my dad. They handled it,” Noctis says as casually as if—

Prompto literally has no idea what to compare that to.

Someone tried to kill the king? Noct never said a word, but now that Prompto is thinking about the days leading up to the arcade incident, he remembers the flurry of text messages Noct got and replied to under the desk in class, his apology for some “boring royal stuff” that he needed to take care of, and Ignis and Gladiolus in their Crownsguard uniforms picking Noctis up every day after school.

Prompto had just chalked up Noct’s unhappiness to whatever royal thing was going on. And Prompto suggested going to the new arcade the day Noctis was finally “done” with his royal stuff as a way to blow off steam.

No wonder Gladiolus blew up at Noct. No wonder Ignis gave him their phone numbers. They were afraid.

“Were they after you, too?”

Noctis startles, and then he actually smiles for a second—a small one, but still a smile. “No. Just my dad.”

“Is he okay? Are _you_ okay?”

“Everything’s fine, promise. They never got to put any of it into action.”

“Still, I’m sorry. No wonder everyone freaked out.”

Noctis shrugs off his apology. “You didn’t know. I’m the one who said okay to a new place without telling Ignis or Gladio.”

Prompto feels like he ought to argue with that even though he knows Noct’s right. They’ve been friends for over two years now, but there are still a lot of subtleties he just doesn’t get when it comes to the world that Noctis lives in. A world that apparently involves _no big deal_ -ing assassination plots.

Six, he doesn’t know what to do with _that_ thought, so he shoves it aside.

“So,” Prompto says, drawing the word out long and slow, “is that what this is about? You wanting to explain the, uh, assassination that wasn’t?”

“Kind of. It’s just that—you’re my _friend_.”

When Noctis hesitates, Prompto pokes his good knee. “We’ve been over that already. And besides, it’s not like I expect you to let me in on all the royal secrets. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me what was going on. I get it.”

“No, you don’t, I—” Noctis makes another frustrated noise, but he leans forward a little, like it will somehow help Prompto understand his next words. “You’re my friend. I spend a lot of time with _you_ . The people who—they don’t always target my dad. We don’t always catch the threats ahead of time. Someday, someone might try to kill _me_ , and _you_ might be there when it happens.”

Prompto opens his mouth, but nothing comes out beyond a quiet, dumbfounded _oh_.

That—of course he knows about the attempt on Noctis’s life when they were kids, everyone knows that. He doesn’t know much about it, just knows an outline of what happened, knows that Gladiolus is always on Noct about stretching, knows that sometimes Ignis can make Noct feel better with the right application of fingers to pressure points and knotted muscles, knows that sometimes Noct’s back and knee fuck him up bad enough he has to take painkillers and lie in bed all day.

If someone tried to kill Noctis when he was a kid, there’s no reason people aren’t still trying. If someone just tried to kill the king, there’s no reason people aren’t plotting against the prince right now. The safest place in the city is the Citadel, and Noct doesn’t live there anymore. Sure, he still spends a lot of time there, but when he’s not there, he’s here at his apartment—

Or he’s out with Prompto. And Prompto definitely doesn’t come with a private elevator that requires a security code in a ridiculously fancy building. He doesn’t come with a Shield raised from childhood to fight or a Hand whose intellect is unmatched. He doesn’t come with the men and women wearing Crownsguard fatigues or the Kingsglaive wielding magic.

He’s Prompto, and the only things that set him apart are the barcode he keeps hidden and the fact that he can get the prince to laugh sometimes.

“Okay,” Prompto says when it’s clear that Noctis is waiting for a response. It’s difficult to form words when his heart is suddenly uncertain what its normal rhythm is. “Okay, so—is there something I need to do? Like if, I don’t know, if something happens when I’m with you?”

For a second, Prompto thinks those are the wrong questions. Noctis stares at him, the apprehension in his eyes quickly shifting to surprise. And then—is that hope? Whatever it is, it seems less bad than what was there before. “Yeah, there is.”

“What is it?” This is more solid footing. Prompto can add whatever these instructions are to Ignis’s demand he keep his phone charged whenever he’s with Noct and that he answer whenever Ignis calls. That’ll be simple, right?

“If someone ever attacks me when I’m out with you, you need to run away.”

“ _What_? No way.” It comes out on reflex, but Prompto doesn’t want to take it back.

Run away? _Run away_? What the fuck kind of request is that? Just up and bail on Noct when his life is in danger?

“I’m serious.” Noctis actually reaches out and grabs his hands. His fingers are still cold, but this time they press tight enough into his skin that he can feel Noct’s fingernails digging in. “Listen, Prompto—if someone comes at us, they’re coming for _me_. If it’s just a straight up assassination attempt, you’ll be collateral damage or they’d kill you to get rid of a witness. If it’s a kidnapping, again, you’d be collateral damage, killed as a witness, or they’d—” Noct’s throat works for a moment “—they’d take you, too, to ensure my cooperation. You’re not like Ignis or Gladio, who have intel that Lucis’s enemies will think is valuable and worth keeping alive in their own right. To them, you’d just be in the way or potential leverage against me.”

 _You’re not like Ignis or Gladio. You’d just be in the way_.

A distant part of Prompto’s brain knows that is _not_ what Noctis said, but it’s the only thing his pounding heart can latch onto at the moment. He feels like he’s at the end of a too-ambitious run: approaching lightheaded, almost sick to his stomach, and wanting nothing more than to be at home in the soothing dark. It’s one thing to know that he’s not as valuable to Noct as the others are; it’s another to hear him (not) say it.

But what if Prompto says no? What if he insists, right now, that he won’t leave Noctis behind, no matter what?

He imagines Noctis starting to decline his invitations to the arcade or the movie theater or out to eat to minimize the amount of higher-risk time he spends with Prompto. He imagines Noctis curbing their time together so he stops coming over to Noct’s apartment, until they only see each other in and around school.

But this is their last year of high school, so Prompto imagines their friendship cooling after graduation, reduced to scattered texts and regulated meet-ups until he has no one but the emptiness of his parents’ house to talk to anymore.

He doesn’t want to go back to that. He _can’t_. No matter what it costs his pride.

He’ll run, if that’s what Noctis wants, and he’ll hate every moment of it.

He’ll hate _himself_ for it.

This time Prompto pulls out of Noct’s grip and looks away. He runs his palms over his thighs and fights not to let his voice shake. “Okay. Run away if someone attacks you. Got it. And then call Ignis, I guess?”

“Gladio first, then Ignis.” He must be doing a better job keeping himself together than he thinks he is, because Noctis just keeps going. “Follow whatever instructions they give you. Think you can do that?”

Or maybe he’s not, because Prompto can hear the uncertainty in Noct’s voice at the end there.

It takes an enormous amount of effort to look Noctis in the eye again and even more to tack on a smile. “Come on, dude. Have a _little_ faith in me. I can handle a sprint and a phone call.”

Noct’s smile is slow in coming, but it does come, and even though Prompto feels like shit, he’s a little relieved to see it. Like he’s passed a test he knows he should’ve failed. “All right, I will. I—hang on, just a second.”

Prompto watches Noctis climb off the couch and then head for his bedroom. Once Noct is out of sight, Prompto rakes a hand through his hair and tries to get his heartbeat to slow down. It is just as unsettled as his stomach.

Shouldn’t he be happy that Noctis still wants him around? Even if he’s so—so _him_ , that the only thing Noctis wants him to do is run for his life if anything ever goes sideways?

What kind of friend _is_ he, agreeing to that so easily?

One that’s realistic about his abilities. He’s no Gladiolus, who probably weighs twice as much as him and has four times the amount of muscle, who has been groomed since childhood to fight and even die for Noctis. He’s no Ignis, who is entrusted to guide Noctis through political minefields, who spent years training to earn the right to wear those red-soled Crownsguard shoes on top of all his other duties.

He’s Prompto.

He’s just—Prompto.

Noctis reappears with a small black box in his hand and something that almost looks like nervousness in the set of his shoulders. Or maybe embarrassment, if the stiff way he shoves it in front of Prompto is any indication. “This is for you.”

Prompto takes the box, uncertain why Noct would be giving him anything after the uncomfortable conversation they just had. Maybe it’s a practical gift, like the portable charger Ignis gave him, another reminder that he needs to serve a purpose if he’s going to be around Noctis.

He pulls off the lid—and freezes when he sees what’s inside. It’s a leather wristband, a complicated three-part piece: one strip with round silver-y studs, one with an alternating double row of square silver-y studs, and then in the middle, a diagonal of plain leather strips and then shorter segments tied together with metal rings crossing the other way. The clasp that binds all the parts together has a thick metal buckle, also that same silver-y color.

The leather is all in the royal black. And if it’s in royal black, then it’s not just stainless steel, or even silver-plated—the metal’s silver, or maybe even platinum, Prompto doesn’t know how to tell the difference.

What he _does_ know is that this isn’t something that Noctis just picked up on a whim at some plebe’s mall. _It’s royal black and silver_. It doesn’t have the skull motif or other symbols of the Lucis Caelum line that would designate it an official, crown-sanctioned gift, with responsibilities and titles and oaths.

But even Prompto knows this is a sign of affiliation. It’s a token that says the bearer has, however small, a portion of royal favor. If the royal family doesn’t just keep a collection of royal accessories to distribute on a whim—which they might, Prompto wouldn’t put anything beyond the capabilities of the Citadel—Noctis had this wristband made.

 _For him_.

“I know it’s not your birthday yet, but they finished it early.” Noctis is rambling, Prompto realizes distantly, but he’s still stuck staring at the leather, his body frozen like it’s just a few seconds from needing a hard reboot. “Ignis wouldn’t let me give it to you until we talked about—about everything. Gladio sided with him.”

He struggles to make sense of their earlier conversation and what Noct is saying now, and it clicks sharply, suddenly, into place. Noctis wanted to give him something that would show Prompto’s affiliation with the royal family. No, not the family, with _Noctis_.

And Ignis—calm, calculating Ignis—with the plot against the king fresh on his mind, intervened. Ignis didn’t want to increase the potential danger to Prompto by letting him wear a royal favor unless Prompto knew what it would mean. Because if Prompto wears this when he is hanging out with Noctis, it will be obvious to anyone, friend and enemy alike, that Prompto isn’t just a casual acquaintance.

But Ignis didn’t object to Noctis giving him the wristband in the first place, Prompto realizes with a sudden rush of disbelief, followed swiftly by something too painful to be gratitude. Gladiolus didn’t, either, at least not according to what Noct’s saying. They just wanted him to know the potential consequences before he put on the wristband.

(Before he marked himself as someone Noctis would hate to lose.)

“Dude,” he says, and he doesn’t try to contain the wonder in his voice, though he does keep his head ducked until he’s sure he won’t cry. “Are you serious—this is for _me_?”

Noctis punches him lightly in the shoulder. “We’ve been over that already.”

Prompto throws the box lid at Noctis for his terrible imitation. The lid hits Noct in the stomach, and he fumbles and fails to catch it before it drops to the floor. Before Noctis can retaliate, Prompto holds out his empty left wrist and the wristband to Noct. “Help me put it on.”

* * *

Later that night, in the safety of his bedroom, Prompto peels off the white and green sweatband on his right wrist. The barcode is as ugly and unknowable as ever, but he carefully compares its width to the straps of the new wristband. It—it will be close, he thinks, and he prays to whichever of the Six is listening that it will be enough.

The buckle is easy to undo by himself, and he drapes the wristband over his right wrist, positioning it over the barcode and fastening it tight. He examines his wrist from every angle, twisting and turning, adjusting the leather until he’s gotten it in the perfect spot. The tiniest, barest edge of the barcode is visible, a fingernail’s width poking out here and there beyond the straps, but the lines are just as black as the leather against his skin.

Unless someone knows what they’re looking for, unless someone has their nose pressed to the band, they won’t notice the barcode. That’s what he tries to tell the fear swelling in his heart. Sure, it’s not as certain as the old sweatband, but Prompto _wants_ to wear this.

He wants to wear it enough to take a chance.

Prompto grabs his cell phone and snaps a picture of his right hand and forearm and sends the picture to Noct with the caption _think I’m gonna retire my old sweatband._

Noctis is probably asleep by now—he was yawning when they shut down his console and Prompto left. Still, Prompto decides to stay up a little while, just in case he gets a response. He kills time on his phone for a while, but now that he has some distance from their conversation, there’s one part of it that his brain keeps going back to, worrying at it like a loose tooth:

 _You need to run away_.

His skin crawls with the wrongness of that, even though part of him gets it. He knows why Noctis and everyone else wants him to agree to it. He gets why it’s the best strategy, why it’s important for Noct to focus on saving himself and not someone else, why having someone dedicated to calling for backup is a _good_ thing. He even gets that no one else sees it as him leaving Noctis behind to die. Prompto just doesn’t want to be that guy forever.

—maybe he doesn’t have to be.

When Noctis finally sends a thumbs up emoji back, Prompto is looking up the physical fitness requirements for the Crownsguard entrance exam.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [tumblr](http://audreyskdramablog.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/audreyskdrama) if you like.


End file.
